Chrisonomicon

Thursday, August 24, 2000

Kurt called me tonight. It's funny how something as simple as hearing his voice can make everything okay. All it takes is one word from him and I'm 16 years old again with stars in my eyes. The whirlwind of doubt and torrents of suspicion that rage inside my head subside instanly like these autumn storms we've been having.

I'm not going to see him for a month. The military is his life, and I've accepted that, but I don't understand how anyone in our generation can possibly stand that kind of control over one's life. I certainly couldn't. They're practically treated like third-graders.

I want to know where this is going to go. At the same time, I don't. I want him to be happy and I want to be happy with him, but I know the two can probably never exist simultaneously.

At first, I was excited at the possibility of "bagging" a cadet. When I visit him in the dorms, he even makes the freshman greet me in the halls. There is a certain seductiveness in his authority, the way his uniform fits. Perhaps that's why I've been so infatuated with him.

Military uniforms are virtually a unanimous fetish for gay men. The uniform is decorated with honors, implying that the wearer's worth has already been proven. It also implies inclusion, appealing to many gays exposed to lifetimes of disdain and exclusion. The uniform represents authority and protection.

It's a destructive preoccupation, admittedly. After all, the military is war and death and conflict; it is society's attempt to fight fire with fire, but it is a necessary evil.

It's different now, because I realize that my wanting him has nothing to do with the military. I don't see those things when I look into his pale, green eyes, when I run my fingers through my hair, or feel his lip brush against my shoulder. Not when he whispers in my ear or jokes with me on the phone. I don't see those things when he stands in front of me, dressed in Air Force blue, hands gloved in white, rifle slung over his shoulder.

When I look at him, I don't see anything but what my mind is convincing me to see. He's not a cadet anymore. He's just the man I want to run away with.